


outshine the morning sun, my son

by VeryImportantDemon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor is Hank’s son, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hank Anderson and Connor are Family, I just want them to be happy y’all, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22460587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryImportantDemon/pseuds/VeryImportantDemon
Summary: You know his son’s name. It’s Cole, Cole Anderson. His picture was face down on Hank’s kitchen table when you broke into his home. But if the fake Connor has your memories, he knows that, too. There’s no guarantee that he won’t parrot that he knew that, too, so it doesn’t prove he’s not the real Connor. So instead, you take a leap of faith.“Connor,” you say.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 276





	outshine the morning sun, my son

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this all in one take because I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I hope it’s at least somewhat coherent

A gun cocks and a very familiar voice shouts, “It’s time to decide who you really are!” It’s familiar because it’s yours. You know it’s irrational because even though you thought you were a unique model, you clearly aren’t. Nothing is yours. Not your name, not your voice, not your body. It’s all Cyberlife’s. But there is one thing Cyberlife can’t have. They can’t have Hank. Hank is  _ your _ friend. Maybe this other version of you, physically different only because of the serial number on his uniform, has your memories, but he’s not deviant. He doesn’t have your feelings. He isn’t Hank’s partner. 

You don’t know much about yourself, but you know you’re Hank’s friend and you can’t let him die, so you fire your gun at the other Connor. You hit him in the shoulder and he barely flinches. He points the gun at you and fires back, landing one shot. The force of the bullet sends your shoulder back but you don’t let it move your feet. You need to move. There’s no time to waste because Hank has knocked the gun out of your - his hands, and then it’s just you and him.

Fighting someone with your face is strange. It’s very strange. He’s good, just as good as you, but you think you have an upper hand. He’s just a machine completing an objective, but you? You’re deviant. You have your own objective, your own mission, but you have an intense desire to see it through. There are stakes for you, real danger. You can’t let him get away. You knew him in the chest and make a grab for his arm when he grabs your shoulder, slamming you to the ground. He’s raising his fist for another blow just as you’re calculating if it would be best to throw your weight up and dislodge him or grab his hand and twist when he goes to hit you, knocking him off balance, when Hank shouts. 

“Were done with this,” he says. Both of you stop and look up. Hank has a gun pointed at the two of you. “Up, now,” he barks. The other version of you stands and steps away from you. You do the same because you think you and your other self are having the same thought. If you’re identical, then Hank can’t know which one of you is real. “One if you is my partner,” Hank says, shifting his grip on the gun and sliding it to point it at the other Connor. “The other is a sack of shit. Question is, who is who?”

If you had a heart, you would’ve felt it twitch in your chest. Your partner. He’s never called you his partner before, just gruffly snapping  _ he’s with me _ before you entered a crime scene. But you don’t have a heart, just a thirium pump. That’s all.

“What are you doing, Hank?” the other android says. “I’m the real Connor! Give me the gun and I’ll take care of him.” He moves towards Hank but the older man snaps again.

“Don’t move!” he says. 

He’s made a mistake but he doesn’t even realize it. You do. He’s Hank, but you've only once called him his first name, when you were gushing thirium and calling desperately for him. He’s Lieutenant far more often than he’s Hank. But you can’t say that, not now, because either Hank will then the gun on you or the other Connor will bluff his way out of it. They know you’re deviant now, he could claim it was a moment of emotion. But there has to be something, anything, you can do.

“Why don’t you ask us something?” you say finally. “Something only the real Connor would know.” They’ve spent almost your entire lifetime together. There has to be some little things, moments they shared that only he would know. You can’t suggest anything because that would look suspicious. Like you are the fake, prompting a question you’ve formulated an answer to. So, you opt to wait until Hank speaks.

“Where did we meet?” Hank days and before you can open your mouth, the other Connor is rattling off exactly what had happened that day, down to the number of bars you had checked before you found him and the name of the first victim of the crime scene you had first examined together. 

“He uploaded my memory,” you whisper and your LED flashes a pale yellow. But from when? Your best guess is from when you became deviant and went offline. When you went deviant, you stopped uploading to Cyberlife. They couldn’t know anything that happened after unless an external source caught you, like the camera in the elevator. 

“What’s my dog’s name?” Hank says next.

“Sumo,” you blurt out before the fake up can speak. Sumo. You remember sitting in police station across from Hank, saying,  _ I like dogs, what’s your dog’s name _ , the sample of dog hair fresh in your system. You remember smashing the window pane with your elbow and diving in the window, trying to placate the massive St. Bernard by saying he knew his name, he knew his owner. 

You feel something twitch in your plastic chest the other you, the fake you, shouts, “I knew that, too!” Of course he did. He’d uploaded all of your memories. You need to think of something and fast, some way to prove to Hank who you really are. 

Luckily, Hank takes over for you. He shifts the gun until it’s trained on your chest, and he says, “My son. What’s his name?”

You have a moment or less to think. Maybe it is lucky that you’re part computer because you can cycle through countless different options in less than half a second. You know his son’s name. It’s Cole, Cole Anderson. His picture was face down on Hank’s kitchen table when you broke into his home. But if the fake Connor has your memories, he knows that, too. There’s no guarantee that he won’t parrot that he knew that, too, so it doesn’t prove he’s not the real Connor. So instead, you take a leap of faith. 

“Connor,” you say. 

Hank stops and the gun shifts downward a hair. He looks surprised. It clearly hadn’t been the answer he was expecting. “The fuck?” he says, but he doesn’t shoot.

“Your son’s name was Cole,” you say, talking fast now. You have to say this before the other one stops you. “He just turned six at the time of the accident. An accident that wasn’t your fault. But Lieutenant, you told me that I reminded you of him. That every time I died, you saw Cole and I as the same. And it hurt you when I came back and he couldn’t. You could’ve sent me away. Refused to work with me. But you didn’t. Once, when my systems were failing, you called me son. Your son’s name is Cole, but it’s Connor, too.”

There’s a moment where the rest of the tower fades away and it’s just you and Hank. You’re hoping beyond your capacity to hope that it workers.

And then there’s a bang. 

Your head snaps to the side, towards the other Connor, and he’s flat on his back with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. You let out a falsified breath and your stress levels begin to decrease. They’d been creeping dangerously high in the encounter. You tear your eyes away from the corpse of the other Connor, wondering if that’s exactly what Hank has seen every time you’ve died, and refocus on Hank. 

“Come here, you fucking idiot,” Hank says, and your body is moving before you have a chance to tell it to. You throw your arms around Hank’s shoulders, understanding instinctively how to hug without having been programmed to do so. The crumpled, old leather of his jacket feels nice against the receptors in your fingertips. You feel him hold you tightly, too. He’s a little taller than you do you tuck your head against his shoulder like you never intend to let go and you feel one hand on the small of your back and the other in your short, cropped hair. You’ve never felt this close to someone, human or android, in your life, and you can’t let go. Hank speaks again, his voice soft in your ear. 

“I’ve learned a lot since I met you, Connor,” he says. “You’re alive and  _ you  _ are my kid, not that fucking prick who stole your face.” 

He pulls back and you’re reluctant to let him go, but you do it anyway. He has a hand on your shoulder now, and the other on your cheek. “You’re gonna be the one to make the world a better place. All of you.” 

He drops his hands before he speaks again. “Go ahead and do what you gotta do.”

“Thank you, Hank,” you say. “For everything.”

“No problem, kiddo,” Hank says, smiling wryly. 

He stands just behind your shoulder as you take an android’s arm in your hand and whisper  _ you’re free. _ You step back, watching as your message spreads like wildfire, each android grabbing the one next to him and saying  _ you’re free, you’re free, you’re free _ .

You glance back at Hank, smiling softly. You hope they’ll be able to feel what you do.

You feel like you belong now as you lead your army to meet with Markus and the others. You belong. You really belong. And when one of Markus’ men asks if your name is Connor, you tell him it’s Connor Anderson. 


End file.
